Untabulated
by VictorFrostWrites
Summary: When the country's financial system is about to be brought to the brink of disaster, who do you call?
1. Prologue

Prologue:

Sitting behind his grand mahogany desk, surrounded by shelves of volumes that constituted the rules and regulations which guided his career and, indeed, the bulk of his life to this point, Chief Administrator Richard Clarkson let out a deep, worrisome growl.

"This is... sub-optimal."

The young, dark skinned woman sitting before him fidgeted slightly, her hazel eyes looking more at the papers on his desk - the same papers that she had handed to him, that he had just finished reading - than at him.

"I know, sir, but the system simply won't allow the National Audit to complete until the area has been accounted for. There's no going around it."

It had taken Head National Assessor Michelle Henke three whole months to track down the cause of the fault. Literally every square inch of the country had been accounted for in the implementation of the newly upgraded national audit system. No longer would the administration need to request and wait for manual tabulations of property and asset values from every district; it would all occur automatically thanks to the thorough collaboration of the dozens of national departments. Every man, woman, and child was accounted for via the census, their incomes via the Bureau of Employment Affairs, the states handled reporting their own incomes and expenses, of course... all used to calculate every important fiscal metric pertaining to the entirety of the 3.4 million square miles of the country she called home. It was really quite remarkable.

Except.

Except that there was exactly 0.03 square miles that had NOT been accounted for and therein lied the problem.

Clarkson let out a sigh and slowly closed the beige file folder, "This outcropping: there are people living there?"

"Yes, sir."

"And their income?"

Henke referenced her own copy of the file, "According to the local assessor's office, they have none."

Clarkson relaxed, "Then they're vagrants. Just have the local authorities remove them and-"

"They're not vagrants, sir," Henke raised a finger in interjection, "as the report notes, there is a structure there and, while the structure itself is fairly recent, local governance claims they've been living there far longer than any records pertaining to the town."

Administrator Clarkson's eyes narrowed.

"That's preposterous. Even if that was the case, which I doubt is true, why has it not simply been valued by the local assessor's office? That's his damn job, isn't it?!" The administrator pounded the desk with his massive paw of a fist.

Unmoved, Henke flipped through her file, "According to the memorandum from their offices, the area in question does not fall within their jurisdiction because it's, technically, not within city limits."

"Then why hasn't the regional assessor's office dealt with it?"

" _They_ claim it's not within state boundaries either, making it a federal issue."

"WHAT?!" The administrator lurched forward and pounded on the desk once more, this time with enough force that Michelle was certain that, if only slightly, the desk had become less structurally sound.

Clarkson scrunched up his face to regain his composure, then smoothed back his graying hairs.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry... but are you _really_ saying that the entire financial forecasting for this country - the GDP, the housing forecasts, unemployment rates... all of it - is being held up by an area smaller than a football stadium?" he asked, eyes pleading.

"Not totally, sir. True, we can't generate any _new_ reports, but the ones we generated on the old system for this quarter are still valid. We can submit those and remain on schedule. However," Michelle's voice dropped from it's usual crisp, professional tone to one more reflective of the situation, "We will be unable to generate the ones for next quarter until this issue is resolved. We have a little over three months, at maximum."

He let out a rough groan and leaned back in his plush seat, rubbing his temples. "Thank you for the report, Ms. Henke."

"Will there be anything else?" she asked, gathering her things.

"No, I just need time to think about how best to resolve this. Have a good weekend."

"You too, sir," he heard, but didn't see, her say as the door to his office closed, his eyes focused on the spot of the ceiling above his desk that he always seemed to look at when his patience was tested.

Loosening the tie that, moment by moment, seemed to strangle him even more, he thought back.

Richard had _known_ this new system was a bad idea. To him the simple axiom "don't fix what isn't broken" was a good methodology to follow. And the fact that damnable Raoul Coursovier proposed it didn't make his opinion on the system any more favorable. But congress _adored_ the idea: it was more efficient, more eco-friendly, cheaper to run over time, and, most importantly, very popular with the newest and soon-to-be largest voting demographic, the new technorati. The technorati (a designation made up by congress, not the people it described) consisted of the youth who had grown in the age of computers and the internet and were now convinced the whole world could be made better with more technology, and would thus vote for anything to do with it and did so in force. Coursovier paraded his new system with a level of pride only a mother would understand and the members of congress could hardly catch their breaths in the race to attach themselves to this "long overdue technological solution to a long outdated system".

But, he admitted to himself, the old system _was_ broken. The fact that it worked didn't mean it worked well or even properly. And the new system was, in every measurable way, better. However, that admission did not quench the flame that burned in hatred towards Coursovier for coming up with this scheme in the first place and, worse, for retiring to Europe and leaving him responsible for this mess.

And the more he thought of it, the worse that fury grew. _Someone_ would pay for the the massive headache he was nursing, for all the paperwork and letters he would have to write, and for every explanation he would have to give anyone on the congressional advisory committee that was assembled to oversee the deployment of this new system (but, he noted, not actually have any responsibility over it if it failed). He couldn't punish Coursovier, for he was more or less out of reach, but what about someone in his old region? One of the assessors he loved to dote on? Any one of them would do to satisfy this aimless anger, so long as they were qualified.

Chief Administrator Richard Clarkson opened up the listing of employees for Coursovier's former regional department and picked a name at random.


	2. Chapter 1

The cheap vinyl seats only barely spared Ted from the full wrath of seemingly every pothole in Keystone as the taxi rumbled through the busy city streets. In contrast to the quite enjoyable day outside, the air conditioner worked at full tilt, chilling the interior of the yellow jail cell to near arctic levels. And the absolute cherry on this lemon meringue rolling metal death trap was the simple fact that, at present speed and traffic patterns, he was going to be late.

It's not often that a mere Regional Assessment Validator was called to North Bay. The Central Audit and Tax Administration had a fairly well delineated hierarchical structure. If there was ever a need for one of the district branches to communicate with the central offices, there were normal channels for that. No. To be called away from one's home office, especially from a busy district like the Boroughs, meant one of three things: a grand hearing for dismissal due to felony (in which case he'd be brought in by the police), a special commendation (to which he would have been given notification of in advance), or a special assignment.

He removed the cream envelope from his inside suit jacket pocket and gingerly reopened it, being careful not to damage the fragile wax seal anymore than necessary. He had, of course, already read the letter it contained, but to be called to the Chief Administrator's office, not via the interdepartmental memo system but by a letter on the Chief Administrator's stationary, from the Chief Administrator's desk, written by the Chief Administrator himself, was a great honor and one he chose to cherish for however much longer this accursed taxi ride would take.

"Mr. Ted Knight,

In recognition of your exemplary work in recent years, particularly during the transition into the new system, I request your presence at my office on June 27th at noon so that I may personally provide to you the details of a special extended assignment that requires the level of care and detail displayed by your past work. You will be leaving for your assignment immediately after our meeting, so be sure to bring what you may require for travel.

I look forward to our meeting.

Signed,

Chief Administrator Richard Clarkson"

Ted carefully tucked away the letter just as the taxi slowed to a halt at it's destination. As the driver circled the back of the taxi and removed his bag, Ted stepped out of the car and took in a deep breath.

The Boroughs was rather small, as far as districts go, but that was a fact that applied to it's geographical area only. With a population that ranked second among all the districts, it was one of the most densely populated territories any assessor could be assigned to, meaning there was always plenty of work to be done and scarcely time to travel. Many assessors had requested transfers to sparser districts after having breakdowns, complaining (to some variation) that they could feel the looming skyscrapers and hyper-dense neighborhoods closing in on them. So, when an assessor from the Boroughs traveled, it was often requested of them that they send back pictures during their trip.

In awe of the austere marble building before him, Ted took out his phone and snapped a picture, sending it to his colleagues back home. Collecting his bag from the driver, He took one last look at this watch (only five minutes left), straightened his tie for the last time, and set upon the grand stairs to the building.

There was a deafening quietude to the waiting area outside of Chief Administrator Clarkson's office.

Ted checked his watch for the dozenth time, then the letter.  
He wasn't late and he hadn't misread. And yet, it was 12:45pm and he still had not met with the Chief Administrator.

The secretary looked up apologetically from behind his desk, "I'm sure he'll be here shortly". Every other time he had been wrong but, just as the words escaped his lips, Clarkson rounded the corner, casually throwing a greasy fast food bag into the wastebasket in the corner. He approached Ted, who stood with a start, and extended his hand with a smile a bit too wide for his face.

"Ah, Mr. Knight! Welcome to North Bay! I apologize for the wait. Another meeting went a bit longer than expected. You know how it is."

"Oh, no sir. No apology needed."

Clarkson guided Ted into his office, "Well then, let's get down to business. You can leave your bags here, this won't take long."

Taking their places on opposite sides of the desk, Clarkson evaluated Ted's appearance. His hair, brown and short but brushed forward, extended out a bit past his forehead. Not exactly regulation, but it was well groomed enough. His suit, however, was almost perfectly regulation; black and almost the right size for him, though a little on the big side (the hallmark of an off the rack purchase). His face, somewhat thin and oval itself, was squared off by the frameless rectangular glasses perched on his nose while his black neck tie (punctuated by a simple, silver tie clip) drew a line down his breast.

In short, nothing especially remarkable. Chief Administrator Clarkson smirked almost imperceptibly to himself as he lifted the manila folder from his desk and handed it to his unremarkable dupe.

"You now have top clearance. Read this."

Ted, with a bit of pause over his new level of privilege, took the file and quickly began to scan the contents. Clarkson laughed internally as he watched Ted's eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow, then widen still more as he flipped back and forth between several pages. Slowly closing the folder, Ted looked up at Clarkson in disbelief.

"Is...", He held up the folder, "Is this right?"

"Unfortunately so." Clarkson steepled his hands, "As you've no doubt ascertained by now, we are in a bit of a fix."

Ted's jaw nearly dropped, "Not quite how I would describe it, sir, but yes. But, I thought the whole nation was accounted for?"

"Well, if you turn to page 67 of the report, you'll see that we've located the anomalous region. It's an area not much bigger than a football field."

Ted reopened the folder and turned the right page.

"This beach... is occupied?"

"Evidently so."

"So, why hasn't it been assessed by the local assessors office?"

Clarkson, took off his own glasses and cleaned them, "Apparently, the area falls under no known regional jurisdiction for several reasons, including historical provenance."

Ted's face scrunched up, his face almost moving in time with his mental gears. There was a moment of silence. Then, he spoke.

"I don't understand, sir. What am I here for?"

Clarkson's teeth sharpened, "Well, as this issue is a result of the implementation of the system created by your former District Assessor, and as your personal sub-districts was one of the trial areas, I thought it would be best to send you to handle the issue."

"Handle the issue?"

"Of course! Your knowledge of the new systems inner workings makes you incredibly well qualified to anticipate any issues that may arise." Chief Administrator Clarkson handed Ted a single sheet of paper, "Here are your new orders."

Ted took the paper and his heart lept into his throat as soon as he read the form number: IMR07.

Internal Memorandum for Reassignment, Specification 07: Indefinite.

He looked up from the paper, "Sir?"

Clarkson stood behind his desk, looming over Ted, "Mr. Knight, You are hereby ordered to report to the local assessors office in Beach City, Delmarva where you will take full operational authority, perform a complete assessment of the anomalous region, and do anything required of you to resolve the issue within three months. After which, you will remain in Beach City in a... supervisory capacity, indefinitely."


End file.
